


Dexter Grif is Bad at Love

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Awkward Crush, Big Brothers, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Overprotective, Protective Siblings, Sad Grimmons, Secret Relationship, Sibling Bonding, Threesome - F/M/M, Walking In On Someone, alternate universe- season 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be fair, it's kinda hard to tell that your sister is in a relationship with two dudes when you live in a completely different base on the other side of a canyon.<br/>On the other hand, Grif could really stand to get his shit together</p><p>Alternatively: Dexter Grif struggles with confirmation bias</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dexter Grif is Bad at Love

**Author's Note:**

> You may notice this is a little different from the way it was originally posted on tumblr. I really felt the need to change a few of Tucker's reations, hope it isn't two confusing!

It starts like a lot of things start with the Reds and Blues, with a lot of shouting followed by gunfire.

All Grif was doing was looking for his sister. Because, y’know, with the ship crash and the two-headed vegetables and the periodic yelling coming from Blue Base, he likes to check in on her every once in a while. He’s her big brother. It’s what he does. It wasn’t that unusual for people to show up at the wrong base, they weren’t even really fighting anymore. Washington shows up to yell at them all the time, Grif’s just returning the favor. Knock knock, who’s there, asshole from the other team, where’s my fucking sister/tank.

Except right now she’s being kind of hard to find. Come to mention it, everyone on Blue Team is being hard to find. He’s been walking around for ten minutes, and he hasn’t found anybody yet. Ugh. This is starting to feel like work. He starts to wonder if they’ve managed to set up a decent place to nap around here…

He hears a scuffle from around the back, so he turns around and heads over towards the cliff-side wall of the base. God, this sucks. He just wants to make sure that his sister’s still here, and alive, and hasn’t been killed by Caboose or bored to death by Washington. What could she possibly doing out back of the Blue’s Base? And what’s that soun—

Grif stops walking. Because that is the unmistakable (and unfortunate) sound of Tucker jerking off. (Did he mention how much he hates that he knows what that sounds like? They have all been deployed together for too goddamn long.)

But nah, those little moans and gasps are totally Tucker getting off. Every once in a while he’ll whisper something, but Grif’s not really paying attention to what he’s saying and honestly, he doesn’t wanna know what weird shit Tucker says to himself while whacking the mole. Grif rolls his eyes. Guy must really miss his rock. Except as he turns to go those whispers turn into sounds that settle into words and he hears—

“ Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck  _fuck_ , your _tongue_ , that is just—“

Tucker cuts himself off with a particularly enthusiastic moan.

Griff freezes. Not jacking off then. He makes a quick calculation concerning the people in this canyon, the ones most likely to be at Blue Base and the most likely to give Tucker a blowjob.

He’s going to kill him. He’s going to kill _her_.

Grif stomps around the corner and the first thing he sees is, indeed, yellow, but after that things just get…confusing?

Because, see, there’s Tucker, armored everywhere except helmet and, well, _hips_ , leaning back against the wall of the base. And there’s someone kneeling at his feet with yellow armor, but it’s also gray, really mostly gray, hardly yellow at all, and that’s blonde hair bobbing over Tucker’s dick and where did she even find hair dye out here, they’re _shipwrecked_ , and that’s a gray armored hand on Tucker’s hip and _holy shit it’s Wash_

“Ho-ly _shit_.”

What happens next happens very fast. Tucker’s head snaps up from leaning back against the base wall, mouth forming the words, “What the—“

But Wash is already moving, clipping his sidearm off his back in a motion too smooth for someone who still has a dick in his mouth. Three shots, _bambambam_ and Grif feels something graze his helmet and it occurs to him that that was probably a bullet, definitely a bullet. Wash's already halfway to standing, stepping forward as if to protect Tucker, and he’s glaring at Grif now, eyes dark and dangerous (mouth wet) and he’s sighting down the barrel.

Two more shots go by his helmet before his legs process the command to run. Grif high-tails it out of there, scrambling back to Red base without looking back and the sound of Tucker shrieking, “GRIF, WHAT THE FUCK,” ringing in his ears.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” Simmons asks after Grif dives through the still-doorless doorway of Red Base and lands on his face. Safety at last.

“Oh my god,” Grif pants, rolling over onto lie on his back. He might be dying. His lungs might be making a break for it. His heart is urging them on, beating the revolution drums in a frenzied rhythm. “Oh, my god.”

Simmons rolls his eyes at him and keeps washing his weird cabbages in the sink. Grif scooches an inch to rest his head on a sandbag from Sarge’s latest “wall” project and tries to negotiate peace with the rebels.

He gets a text-com from Tucker. He opens it. It says, again, what the fuck grif. He closes it.

“Holy shit.”

“Hey, asshole,” Simmons says without looking up from his cabbage. “Try to mention it if you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Grif says. “I’m not dying. Yet. Oh my god.”

“You actually gonna say something useful, or you gonna just add to our sandbag collection?” Simmons asks. “Because we really don’t need them to talk.”

Grif sits bolt upright.

“Tucker and Wash are fucking.”

Simmons jumps in surprise at his outburst and gapes at him.

“What?”

“Fucking,” Grif says. “Tucker and Wash. They’re fucking. I almost died.”

“What??”

“I was just looking for my sister and then they were there and they were doing the do and then Wash shot at me!”

“WHAAAT?”

Grif stares at Simmons, wide-eyed and still a little shell-shocked. Simmons stares back.

“I went to Blue Base to check on my sister and I walked in on Tucker and Wash.”

The silence yawns between them, with only the sounds of Sarge outside humming to break it.

“Holy shit,” says Simmons.

*

“You’re a fucking dick, Grif,” Tucker yells when he comes stomping across the canyon an hour later.

“I don’t want to talk about dick,” Grif whines, but that just makes Tucker look even angrier.

Grif dodges around the back of a pile of rubbish as he gets closer, putting it between him and Tucker.

“Don’t hurt me!” he yells. “I’ve got an audio log set to send to Simmons’s helmet if my vitals flatline!”

Tucker laughs but it doesn’t actually sound like he finds anything funny at all.

“What’re you gonna try and do, blackmail me?” He retorts. His hand is entirely too near the handle of his sword for Grif’s comfort. “Everyone on Blue Base knows, you’ve probably already told Simmons, and I don’t really give a shit if you tell the two remaining assholes in this canyon.”

“I don’t wanna blackmail you, man, I just wanna _live_ ,” Grif says, leaning out from behind the pile to look at Tucker incredulously. “I didn’t tape you. Gross, dude. That log’s just telling them who killed me. In case you _kill me_.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” It sounds like Tucker wants that to sound bitchy but it just comes out kind of relieved, even if he’s still pretty angry. “Wash is a douche for shooting at you, he totally apologizes. Now do we have to actually talk about this shit, or are you going to be cool?”

“I’m cool,” Grif says, coming out from behind the rubbish. “Let’s talk, whatever, man. Whatever keeps me breathing.”

Tucker waves a hand at him, like “get on with it then already.” They stand in silence for a moment and Grif has absolutely no idea what’s supposed to be happening here.

“Well?” Tucker demands. “Are you gonna make jokes or not?”

“What?” Grif says. “No. Wait. Why?”

“Seriously?” Tucker demands, “No jokes? Not even a little one? ‘Cause my base is already some kind of horrible chick-flick movie about death where everyone screams at each other and has breakdowns and shit, I don’t need you or anybody else being asshats about this and winding up Wash even more.”

“Alright, dude,” Grif says, holding up his hands. He has no idea what Tucker means by the chick flick situation but even his love of gossip is struggling to breathe under the weight of his survival instincts. “No jokes. Only being cool. No jokes at all.”

“ _Good_.”

That silence descends again and Tucker’s avoiding his eyes. Grif’s love of gossip peaks out from under his survival instincts’ fat ass to see if the coast is clear. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, trying to gauge Tucker’s current level of prissiness.

“I just want to…” he starts. Stops. That sounds bad, try again. “I just wanna know— I don’t want to…”

Tucker stares at him.

“Dude. What the fuck.”

“You know when you want to know, but you also really don’t wanna know?” Grif tries.

Tucker stares more. And then Grif gets the distinct impression that there’s a sharklike grin starting under that helmet.

“Dude, are you asking for _details_?” The glee in Tucker’s voice sends danger signals to every part of his brain.

“No! No, no—“

“Because I can provide details,” Tucker continues. “I can go play by play, I totally kiss and tell—“

“Stop!” Grif whines, trying to talk loud enough he can't hear whatever Tucker's gonna say next. “Stop, you win, shut up already!”

Tucker sniggers at him and Grif shakes his head in despair.

“I just wanna know,” he starts. God, he wishes Donut were here, it’s so hard when he has to go mining for gossip himself. “If it’s like a sex thing, or—“

“Oh, it’s definitely a sex thing,” Tucker interjects. “Did you not get an eyeful when—“

“Or, like, a sex plus other stuff thing.”

And now Tucker just looks confused.

“Other stuff?” he asks. “Do you want a kink list or something? Cause this hasn’t been going on that lon—“

“Are you dating, or fuckbuddies?” Grif forces out.

Tucker stares at him again. He has never been looked at by Tucker for this long in his entire life. He’s not a fan and he’d like it to stop now, please.

“Um,” he says, and if a voice could be blushing and shuffling its feet, his would. “Dude, why do you wanna know?”

“Just answer the question.”

Tucker coughs, clears his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, we’re. We’re. We’re we? Like, a thing, not just when fucking we?”

Now it’s Grif’s turn to stare at Tucker. Tucker sighs and avoids his eyes.

“Fuck,” Grif says. “I owe Donut, like, a case of eyeliner.”

“What?” Tucker yelps.

“And I really wanted those oreos too,” Grif whines. “Couldn’t you have held out another two months? Oh, wait, there’s still hope, which one of you made the first move? Because if it was you, I win a—“

“You bet on us?!” Tucker yells. “Really?”

“Dude? There’s not a lot of entertainment around here,” Grif says. “Seriously. Who started it.”

Tucker considers him carefully.

“What do I get a cut of if you win?” he asks.

Grif sighs and waves him off.

“Never mind,” he says. “I don’t share.”

And for some reason, Tucker find this fucking hilarious and starts laughing so hard he might fall over. Grif takes a moment to mourn for lost oreos. Then it occurs to him.

“Well, at least this means you’ll be keeping your hands off my sister,” he says, brightening up.

Tucker chokes on his own spit mid-laugh, but recovers quickly.

“I mean—What?”

“Wash would totally kill you if you cheated on him,” Grif continues, liking this more and more with every second. “He’s like Agent Grudge, revenge edition. This is like the best insurance ever!”

“Yeah, insurance,” Tucker repeats, deadpan. “Against cheating. With your sister.”

“And if you’re not fucking her,” Grif says, “And Wash isn’t fucking her, then that means she probably won’t get pregnant! That time with the ice was probably just an outlier and shouldn’t count, anyway.”

“Dude, you really don’t—” Tucker cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Yeah, whatever, man. All of that is completely true. Whole sale truth. All truth, whole truth and nothing but the truth, and all that. I’m going to go back to Blue Base now, bye. Dumbass.”

Grif sits down on some broke-to-fuck thing and smiles to himself.

This has turned out to be a neat day. He’s totally earned a nap

*

The next time he wanders over to Blue Base to check on Kai he’s a lot more careful about entering rooms, stomping extra loud and trying to casually call for his sister.

“Sis? Oh, Sis?” he singsongs, edging along the wall to where he thinks the kitchen was. They wouldn’t have sex in a kitchen would they? “It’s just Grif come to make sure you’re cool and stuff. Just Grif, walking along this hallway looking for my sister…”

When he gets up the courage to peak into the next room it is not, in fact a kitchen. It looks like it was a meeting room at some point, but someone’s tried to convert it into a living room. Kai waves at him from the (ugly, stained, probably full of mold and rodent nests) couch.

“Hey, bro,” she whispers. “What’s up?”

Grif considers the scene in front of him. Tucker’s sprawled across the couch, dead asleep and with his head in Kaikaina’s lap. Also shirtless. He’s still armored from the waist down, and his feet are hanging off the couch, but above the waist? Naked. He must’ve gotten sick of getting his dreads into a helmet again, because he’s got a buzz cut since Grif’s last seen his face. Also, to reiterate, he’s got his face in his sister’s lap. Like, his cheek is resting on her thigh and everything, and wait a second.

“Why aren’t you in armor?” Grif asks.

“Oh,” she says, looking down at herself as if the absence of a titanium-alloy battlesuit vs t-shirt and shorts was an easy mistake to make. “Oh, no, I take that off all the time,” she says.

“Despite being repeatedly told not to,” Wash interjects, from somewhere behind Grif.

Grif makes room, edging along the wall and Wash settles, leaning against the doorway. He, too, eyes the scene in front of him, at least as far as Grif can tell from Wash’s visor. It seems to take him an awful long time, looking them both up and down. Grif flinches. Shit. This is going to get ugly. But when Wash opens his mouth his tone is wry, maybe a bit annoyed (Wash’s default state is a bit annoyed) but light.

“What happened to him?” he asks, indicating to Tucker.

“Someone wasn’t prepared for Leg Day,” Kai tells him, grinning and that really is one hell of a grin right there. Especially for just seeing her CO again for the umpteenth time that day.

“If you’re still this cheery after Leg Day, then I clearly didn’t work you hard enough,” Wash responds, but Grif can tell that he, possibly, might be, may be smiling behind the helmet. What the fuck.

“You can work me harder later,” she retorts, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ve got great leg stamina. It comes from all the squats I do.”

Grif sighs and facepalms. His sister is categorically unable to say anything without making it sound sexual. Luckily, Wash doesn’t seem too offended or freaked out or anything.

“Grif’s got a point though, where’s your armor?”

“Behind the couch,” she says, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m inside the base! The rule was I couldn’t go _outside_ out of armor.”

“Because that’s unnecessarily reckless,” Wash says, voice tightening beside his obvious attempts to keep sounding friendly. “We still don’t know where we are, if any locals are friendly, or even if there’s any large predators around. Until we have more information, we should all be—“

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, waving a hand at him and looking away. Grif actually hears Wash’s teeth grind together. “Whatever.”

This is pretty much the worst moment ever, but honestly, it’s killing him and he’s gotta ask.

“Shouldn’t you have more of a problem with that?” Grif asks, jerking his chin at the couch situation.

Wash stares at him in confusion.

“What?”

Grif gestures to the couch, because isn’t it obvious? Hello. Earth to Agent Washington. Your boyfriend-thingy is in the lap of someone you know’s fucked him before and who he finds attractive. Wash gives him this look that Grif has come to understand means “I don’t understand your strange Red Team Ways, so I’m going to ignore them.”

“Kaikaina—“ Wash says, and Grif jumps a bit. He didn’t know Wash knew her first name. He didn’t know she told him her first name. “Could you push his legs off the couch, please? We had enough trouble digging that thing out from under those rafters, we don’t wanna break it already.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Wash somehow find a way to anti-flinch, going motionless and still for a fraction of a second. Grif sighs. Blue Team is so fucked up.

She leans over Tucker, reaching for his hips. The move puts Tucker’s face directly into her…her…chest area and Grif glances between her and Wash, not sure what’s happening right now. And then she’s reaching for the codpiece, fingers finding the clasps with practiced ease.

“Whoah, whoah,” Wash says, straightening, and glancing at Grif, “Um. Maybe—“

“You wanted his armor off the couch, didn’t you?” Kai asks, blinking far too innocently up at Wash.

Grif isn’t fooled, but Wash takes the bait. Sucker.

“That’s not what I—”

“So you _didn’t_ want me to get him more naked?”

“This is the second best way to wake up ever,” Tucker’s voice says, somewhat muffled by Kaikaina's position bent over his head, his face square in her cleavage. “Right behind that time we— Oh, hey, Grif, what the fuck are you doing here?”

But instead of trying to wiggle out from under Kai and therefore avoid the impending Wash-wrath, Tucker, just kind of settles in, shifting to make himself more comfortable. He must feel something because he suddenly frowns and stops, looks down at Kai’s hands on his codpiece.

“Oh, heeey,” he leers. “What’s going on down there?”

“Getting your pants off,” Kai says. “We’re gonna break the couch. Wash told me to—“

“Why doesn’t Wash just do it himself?”

Grif makes a face under his helmet. C’mon, Tucker. That’s just rude and kind of tacky considering Wash is standing right there. Blue Team has some pretty weird standards of behavior. Of maybe that’s just Tucker.

“Why are you here again?” Wash turns to him to ask, interrupting the increasingly euphemistic conversation going on on the couch.

“Yeah, Grif,” Tucker, chimes in, raising an eyebrow at him upside down. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Checking on my sister,” Grif says slowly, eyeing Tucker for any impending weirdness. “Like I do.”

“Yeah, well, you’re good, Kai, right?” Tucker doesn’t even wait for her to answer, getting to his feet and practically shoving Grif out the door and into the hallway.

“Tucker, what the fuck—“

“Bye, Grif!” Tucker yells pointedly. “Thank Simmons for the weird vegetables!”

“Bye, Sis!” he yells through the wall, equally as pointedly. “Bye, Tucker! Try to be less fucking weird next time!”

As he leaves, he hears Tucker mutter something, but it’s muffled from the distance and the walls between them. Wash’s shrieking “What do you mean he doesn’t know? Are you honestly telling me you—“ however, is completely audible and after that the base erupts into arguing.

Grif sighs as he heads over to Red Base. Blue team is so loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Grif has never actually seen a game of whack a mole.


End file.
